Texas rider
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Don't ever underestimate Texas, or mess with its right to be armed.


They were _everywhere._

Packed so tight their shoulders touched, and that their chests were getting pressed into the backs of everyone in front of them, with the appearance of a moving, shifting mosaic, stood dozens of walkers.

At least. There could easilt be over a _hundred._

They were so _numerous_ , and about as disgusting; they resembles skeletons, with skin and flesh _patched_ over them. These zombies had quite clearly been rock concert fans when they were still sentient, becasue they were doing an excellent imitation of that; mindlessly mobbing around a raised platform, which they couldn't reach, stretching their ( rotting, like badly exposed produce ) hands toward it, unable to stop themselves from doing so.

Huddled onto said platform- the top of a truck trailer left hastily abandoned roughly at the midpoint of the street, its truck having long taken off to escape- was a handfull of survivors.

Not many of them, obviously. Bands of the living- aside from the roving gangs, or warlords-were rarely large, and this particu;ar group wasn't an exception. To be exact, there were 4 of them.

They'd been there all night, and now, as dawn clawed its way across the sky, lighting up the carpet of ash shaded clouds hanging overhead, they were still there, much to their immense dismay.

It was undiniably, and quite apparently, weighing on them to some extent, stuck out exposed to the elements for this long All 3 of the women- 2 of them green eyed, athletic brunettes, the 3rd a slightly stocky blonde- had strands of hair poking up and out in all directions off their heads, and stressed, exhausted expressions. Their clothes were rumpled, creased currently still rather damp from the chilled rain that had been falling for the past few hours, and had now tapered off into a light, but still present drizzle.

The man with them, sporting a head of tufted dark hair, and a short, edge trimmed beard, was also afflicted with exposure; he continually rubbed his face to stave off the lingering effects feelings of tiredness, and kept massaging his hands, sore from gripping a length of tree branch he'd using till now to fend off the overambitious walkers who got too near the group's tenuous outpost, jabbing and poking at them if they even _seemed_ to be getting close to climbing the sides.

It was something he'd done as long as they'd been here.

" Jabe ? ", the brunette closest to him asked, putting a hand on his arm. " What time is it ? "

It was a somewhat moot question; all of their smartphones ( Galaxies ) had run out of battery a long while ago, and none of them had a watch ( because these days, everyone used a mobile phone rather than a watch for timekeeping ), so they could only guess, at best, what hour of the day it was.

Still, asking the time was, well, such a _normal_ thing to do. And Alsia wanted normal to be back. Sitting on the cold, rock hard, and wt roof of a truck trailer, while _surrounded by zombies_ , was about as far from normal as could be.

She knew Jabe would understand her, what her point was. And he did.

Turning to her, he blinked a bit with surprise, but soon, he held her hand right back.

" I defintely want a stack of waffles right now, so I'd say 8:00. Maybe nearly, 9. "

He smiled at her saying so, and it casued her to as well. They'd been getting closer, gradually, over these past few weeks of running and striving to stay alive, and if they were to be stranded somewhere, at least they were not doing it alone.

It improved this living nightmare, and it was a _little_ more tolerable. Undoubtedly, it was still appalling, but even so, there were moments where you could wake from it, even if just for a moment or so.

Until you woke up.

 _' Hkk, hkk_ '

A racking cough sounded nearby.

The blonde- whose hair was technically a shade of tan- coughed again. Thirst was turning the interior of her throat to sandpaper. None of them had drunk anything for at least 12 hours, and it was becoming harder and harder to endure. Hunger was a problem as well, yes, but thirst always sets in first, and its what you notice first when caught out somewhere stranded.

Thirst is also what kills you first.

Khara was doing an admirable job of hiding her pain from it, but even so-

" Alsia, is that bottle completely empty ? ", she gasped, coughing once more. Her breathing had become a little a raspier, and parched, eager for water.

However, just as with keeping time, there wasn't anyone here who could help. Their water, such as their power, was gone. All of their supplies, so to speak, were gone.

" Its empty. I hate to say it. ", Alsia, the brunette with Jabe hesitatingly admitted. She'd had a glass bottle, formerly filled with seltzer water, which was well and truly dried up. They'd rationed it between them as carefully as they could, but after a night, there was nothing left.

Having to say it, though, was worse, or at least just as bad.

" You sure ? I will drink my own spit; I solemnly swear, that's what its coming to for me. "

She sounded serious, and truthfully , nobody could blame her. That was another hint of how much they were all struggling under all this. Between the thirst, and the presence of all those vile creatures, they were getting hit hard by stress, exposure, and overall were in a bad spot. They all still felt they could hold on for another day, perhaps, but that would be near the end of it.

Getting off the trailer, to escape, and/or retrieve some water ? That couldn't be done; they would last seconds with all the walkers. Even if they dropped off into a less densely packed section of the crowd, there was too big a chance of them getting seized and bit, or falling, and _then_ getting bit.

The mob of walkers had driven them onto where they were. The _herd_ of them had corralled them into the veritable prison they now found themselves in, and as they'd found when it came to walkers, just wouldn't leave. They just linering, decaying, moaning, and raising a repulsively nasty racket.

Jabe abruptly ( perhaps because of this feeling of being hemmed ) took up the branch he had, and with a grunt of annoyance, lanced it toward one of the walkers, a spindly one with half of its face completley missing.

The walking cadaver shrieked, and fell over, dissappearing into the mob of its fellows, swallowed up by them, and at once replaced.

" Hellspawn ", he muttered, and slammed the branch onto the roof, biting his lower lip with anger.

" Got what was coming to them ".

The 4 member of the group, the second brunette, named Tebura, had been silent up till now, Sitting at the back of the trailer, nearly at its edge, actually. Cross legged, head lowered, she'd been all but a statue for hours on end, hardly moving at all.

She'd always been a reserved, softspoken sort as long as they'd all known her, but something had done something to worsen it:

When they'd fist climbed onto the trailer, frantic and soaking all the way through after having run there through the driving rain, Tebura had been the last to reach the roof, pulled up just as the hands of a walker pulled off one of her shoes. It had been a knife edge escape, and it had probably done more to her than their overall plight was to everyone else.

She'd taken it hard, which wasn't too shocking, but it still worried the others. Nobody could be expected to take all of what they were in without being shaken, on some level, but her stony demeanor unsettled them. Tebura was too near the edge.

In more ways than one. She _was_ too close.

Alsia turned to her " Look at that. They're even flimsier than I thought. "

It was half a quip, half an assesment. Either way, Alsia had hoped it would do something for Tebura's mood. She wanted- and had, she felt- to do something. Anything at all, if it seemed like it would help.

She couldn't tell though, if it had.

Tebura just nodded, minutely. Her gaze was fixed on the edge of the roof, but she hardly seemed to have reacted at all.

Her lethargy was actually palpable to everyone. They all felt it themselves; perhaps not as badly, or exactly why, but they did. Thier situation seemed hopeless, and there appeared to be no way out of it. They were trapped, penned it, and cornered, and that unassailable fact was taking a toll.

At some point, in all of their minds, they'd have to do something. As the only apparent options all seem garunteed to get them killed, nobody was enthusiastic. Then again, staying put was even more certain to do the same, though: water depravation and exposure would do that just as well as any of the walkers.

" How did it come to this ? ", Tebura spoke aloud.

Heads pivoted her away, and eyebrows shot up.

What ?

" Just, cars, folks on the sidewalks, cats sitting in windowsills. That's what you'd find on these streets. Before, anyway. Now, there's only _them_. These things, they've- they've _flooded_ the place. I can't connect these two worlds. I can't. "

It'd shocked her audience; that was the most she'd said up till now.

But, at the same time, they knew she was right. This world, the one overrun with the abominations known as walkers, really did feel like it was badly detached from the one that had existed beforehand, so much so, that it might as well not have existed at all. You wouldn't, just to say, find _decaying walking corpses_ at the Caribou Coffee on the street corner, or more of them crowding around the stop sign at another corner, or marching around through the aisles of the Trader Joe's a block away from the equally- overrun Taco Bell.

All of that was gone. This new world wanted to end you any way it could. And, it seemed it was close to suceeding with them.

That anyone would actually say so, however, wasn't clear yet.

That was tanamount to wanting to just leap off the roof, and they all still wished- Jabe and Alsia, Khara for a drink of clean water if nothing else, and even Tebura to not let the walkers win- to stay in the land of the living. Which, technically, was also the one of the dead now.

Jabe looked up at the sky. The ash shaded clouds were still up there.

" Still might rain ", he observed carefully. " What if there's lightning, as well ? Maybe that will distract them. "

A ' reaching for a something that's floating while drowning ' hope, and there was no doubt. But, nobody could, or would, call him out on it. Any hope, however flimsy, was welcome here. It was all they could do. Hope. Pray. Hope.

Any hope. Such as, just as an example, someone, _anyone_ , who could reach them.

They'd have to be _laden_ with firepower, or be quite mad, to even consider diving into the mass of walkers. It was a madman's gambit, an _impossible_ one. Ludicrious, even. Actually, it was. Who could, and would do that ?

For the life of them, though, they could think of no other realistic option. Someone would have to come save them. Someone-

Wait.

What was that ?!

Everyone's ears perked up, as they detected a new sound. Not the moans of the walkers, or the patter of rain hitting the metal roof, but, something else.

An _engine_. _An engine !_

There _was_ an engine sound out there, and it was getting _closer_ !

Both of those- that there was an engine out there, and that it was getting _nearer_ to them, both were absoletely shocking to the group, to the point where they were certain at first they were imagining it. It could _not_ be real. With wide eyes, and stunned expressions, they glanced around at each other. Even the listless Tebura seemed to come alive, twisting around to face the direction of the sound.

" Hit me ", Jabe stated, almost a whisper, albiet a hopeful one. " I must he hallucinating. Does everyone hear-

" Oh, my lord, _yes_ . "

It was evident Alsia was on the verge of shouting with( arguably even primal ) relief, and joy. Some newly-granted instinct of living in a world full of walkers ( drawn to noise ) kept her from doing so, but regardless-

It was a shot in the arm for them. They could _feel_ it: a change in everyone's shared mood. This was _actually_ happening- after being so sure they were condemmed to either a slow death, a viciously painfull one, or an ultimate long shot at living, there now seemed a chance that all of could actually get out of this. All of them, might live to keep on sratching out an existance in this world. It was still a rough as a diamond slog, but it beat _this_.

A chance.

Khara crawled up to where Tebura was, and peered out over the crowd, out over their caved in skulls, to where the street rounded a bend.

Where the sound of an approaching _V8_ engine could be heard. It had to be a V8; it was loud, rough, but in a powerfull and robust way.

A V8 that was being pushed hard. Whoever was driving was in a hurry.

" Please, be a truck. Please,be a truck please be a truck ", murmured Tebura. She clutched her shoulders.

" A good, big, pickup. Not one of the older ones. A 2010's one. They tough. They're strong. They can get through anything. "

It was an oddly worded hope, they all thought, but this was hardly ( not at all, actually ) the time to question it. Gift horses had mouths that were not to be looked at.

Then, their horse appeared.

A gleaming, ebony black Pickup truck, big as an elephant, came barrelling around the corner.

It was no ordinary big black truck, though. This one had been _modified_.

" That's a rolling _fortress_ ! "

To begin with, it sported a fearsome, ranch-style, solid metal front grill, bolted firmly, and- imposingly- it was wrapped in blood-spattered barbed wire ! Wire mesh had been stretched over its side windows, and over them, metal bars had been welded into place. Sheets of metal had been hung over its wheels, and they were covered with mud streaks, and more blood.

And in the bed of the truck, behind a roll bar festooned with a row of floodlights,

Was a _machine gun !_ Mounted as a technical would have it, was a .50 cal M2 machine gun.

Gripping its firing handles, stood a man clad in sand- shaded cargo trousers, hiking boots, and a black pullover. His face was hidden behind a skull- design bandanna, and a pair of ski goggles.

" What- ?! "

" Is that- ?! "

Like a snowplow, the big rig he was riding bulled its way through the undead shambling about at the fringes of the herd, its impressive mass, and unyielding ram slamming the walkers out its way, or crushing them like aluminum ( not allu-min-ium ) cans under its wheels. Their rotted bodies were beyond no match for it, smacked around and away like toys.

A _magnificent_ display, for certain.

A chorus of thumps sounded as the the locomotive on 4 wheels carved a bloody path through the crowd of zombies. The ones further away, nearer to the truck, at once swung around, their attention caught immedietly.

Moaning, wheezing, they lurched off toward it.

And that's when the gun opened up.

 **BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,BM,,BM,BM,BM,BM !**

It was the loudest sound any of the trapped group had ever heard, rivaled by _thunder._ Their ears rang and vibrated to where it hurt, and they had to clap their hands over them. The gun was all but a cannon, its muzzle spewing fire and noise.

It was mighty, too.

The gunner knew what to do; he aimed for the walker's heads. Working the gun's fusilade over the tops of the herd, he played the bullet stream over them like a firefighter's hose, methodically ripping their heads from their shoulders. The huge bullets smashed them effortlessly,with just one round often decapitating several walkers by itself.

They herd shambled as fast as they could, moaning, wailing, shrieking, a tide of abominations. And yet, they kept getting torn apart. They sheer impact of the rounds just _stopped_ them, even if they weren't hit in the head. That was some distance between them and the truck didn't help them at all. It gave the gunner even more space and time to line them up.

They had the numbers, but they were such easy targets. Numbers couldn't always work, and here they didn't.

The truck's engine revved again. As the herd was thinned out, more and more of them dropping, the truck charged right at the herd. Walkers were run down all over again, if they weren't shot first. The rig swerved around, its back end throwing more walkers flying as it hit them,as the gunner decimated those that weren't.

 _skrrrch._

It came to a stop, right at the edge of the trailer.

And, now, things were quiet again.

As suddenly as everything had become _so loud_ , now it was quiet again. It was stunnings, how things could go from one to the other. The were no more moaning walkers.

There were no more walkers at _all_ , actually. All of them were down. They _littered_ the ground, like fallen leaves, all behind the truck, and in front of it. They lay with missing limbs, missing heads, and in some cases, in more less-than-whole conditions. They'd been _wiped_ _out_.

All of them.

None of the survivors could speak. With their ears still stinging, and the odors of gunpowder and burnt rubber hanging in the air, they slowly closed their slack-opened jaws, staring at what had just happened.

" _Who are they_ ?! ", Jabe finally managed, as the ladies were even more speechless than he'd been.

As if by cue, the gunner raised his goggles, and moved aside his bandanna. He had a short goatee, and a trimmed mustache.

And, a triumphant grin. The grin of someone who'd won a righteous victory.

" Howdy. ", he greeted them.

" You folks require some Texas hospitality ? "


End file.
